Gurdweill remained rooted to the spot. None of it seemed real to him. His lips stung as if they had been burned, and his mind was completely stupefied. There was no room in it for even the shadow of a thought. His heart beat like a hammer; it hammered in his hands, in his legs, his head, as if it had leaped out of his chest. Something had just happened, something wonderful, something incredible, but perhaps it had happened not to him but to somebody else, outside him. Gurdweill stood facing the locked door, concentrating on the inside of the house into which the Baroness had disappeared. He imagined he heard her footsteps on the stairs. He listened for a while and he kept on hearing them. He looked up and imagined he could see a light going on in one of the windows on the second floor. Yes, that must be the window of her room … In the end he moved away. But after a few steps he stopped again and stared straight ahead of him, into the next street, as if he were searching for something. On the sign stuck to the wall on the corner, which was illuminated by the streetlamp, he read the name of the street without understanding it. He read it again and again, but nothing sank in. Opposite him there was a man standing against the wall.

‘I suppose he must be hungry …’ The thought flashed through his mind. Gurdweill walked slowly on, swaying slightly, and without realising where he was he reached Nussdorfer Strasse. Aha! he suddenly remembered — the Währing district! He had just been in the Währing district! It was written on the sign, in so many words! And she, she lived in Schulgasse, number 12. The Ba-ro-ness The-a von Ta-kow, Schulgasse 12. Not thirteen or eleven, but exactly twelve … Six and six, seven and five, eight and four — they all made twelve! Thea von Takow, Rudolf von Takow — no, von Gurdweill … the Baron Rudolf von Gurdweill! Ha-ha-ha! Gurdweill burst into loud laughter, which somewhat cleared his head. A new part of his life was beginning. He could feel it in his bones. This evening was a milestone. One thousand five hundred miles up to here. A station. And from here on! He felt a powerful urge to do something, to go somewhere unfamiliar, to argue with people and beat them, to prove to them that everything was for the best, that nothing was wrong or distorted, that they should rejoice with all their hearts, rejoice and give thanks for every breath they took, for the immeasurably great gift that had been given to man, who was utterly unworthy of it. He wanted to share with others the joy in life which filled him to overflowing.